In the summer humidity, Match considered ditching
the oracle's advice to check out this particular yard
sale. However, if the oracle had it right, they'd pick
up one of the missing Gates of Hell — at a bargain price.

"I could use my power to persuade that woman into letting
us have a sneak preview. I'd love to buy that flat screen
TV." Match shot another hoop and spun enough of his magic
into the ball to let it creep towards Brother Zachariah's
feet.

The old man replaced his bookmark and gave the basketball
a baleful stare. It halted an inch from his polished black
boots and quivered. "Keep that orange monstrosity away
from me, Brother Match. If you use your power in public
again, I'll beat you with that thing."

"Sorry." Match picked up the ball and squeezed it. Sometimes
his power just leaked out of him, but the old man had
appointed himself referee in charge of Match's lack of
discipline.

A loud roar from an engine made them turn around.

"How did Eddie know to come here?" Zachariah's voice
held a hearty dose of contempt. In the last few months,
Eddie had shown up whenever a mission drew them out of
the Order's headquarters.

"I take it you aren't here for the exercise bike, Eddie,"
Match said. "Is your master in that oversized shoebox
you drive or are you here alone?"

They'd gone to high school together close to ten years
ago, but since then Match had joined the Order of the
Northern Light and Eddie had yoked himself to a demon
who borrowed bodies at the rate of one a year.

"You guys are in for a shock when my master opens that
gate. You're here, so it must be around somewhere." Eddie
reached for the basketball. "Come on, Match. I haven't
been to the gym in two days and I need a workout."

In answer, Match looked at Zachariah. The older man waved
them away. "We have a few minutes longer to wait." He
beckoned Match closer. "Find out if the demon or its lackey
knows what the gate looks like."

"Our GPS conked out on us," Eddie said with alarming
directness. "Did your oracle clue you in this time? I
hear it's not all that reliable."

The oracle twitched inside Match's jacket. When he slapped
it, the oracle subsided and he dribbled the ball. All
of a sudden, Eddie darted everywhere Match wanted to go,
like a cadaverous shadow.

"I don't need an oracle to know your team is going to
lose the game." Match rocked on his heels for a split
second, then shot the ball. It teetered on the rim of
the basket and refused to go in.

"Right now the Order consists of a bunch of senile old
people and you," Eddie said, staring at the ball. "You
don't even know how to use your magic beyond a few stunts.
Word out of New Mexico is your guys killed a few priests.
You guys are starting to look a lot like us, man."

The ball slipped off the rim and Eddie leaped to catch
it. Frustrated, Match chased him around the driveway.

"The Order is doing its job," Match said, gasping for
breath. "As long as I manage to stay a few steps ahead
of you, I'll be fine."

"Look at you, Match." Eddie sniffed. "You should have
been one of us — Marjorie did some amazing things in Boston.
Instead, you're the Goth groupie to a bunch of prissy
old men who can barely shave themselves in the morning."

"Leave Marjorie out of it." His stepsister had chosen
her own path years ago.

Eddie aimed a wild shot at the hoop. It bounced off the
rim and flew into the snarl of bushes nearby.

"Gentlemen." Brother Zachariah gestured to the house
next door. "Let's go hunting."

Match went to admire the TV. The Order put him on the
road so much it wouldn't be a practical buy, but he didn't
mind drooling a minute.

Eddie noticed his destination and elbowed past him, bumping
into a woman in a bright muumuu.

"Excuse me," the woman said, aiming an annoyed look at
Eddie. One of her curlers popped out of her hair and landed
in front of Match.

He stooped to pick up the curler, which skittered away
from his fingers. "Knock it off, Eddie."

"It's not me, Big Guy."

The curler dragged itself along the ground towards the
flat screen TV. Dismayed, the woman took a step backwards
as Match raced up to Eddie and shouted for Brother Zachariah.

The elder broke off his conversation with the lady in
charge of the cash box and hurried over in time to witness
a blaze of fire appearing in the middle of the TV screen.

"That's it," Eddie said, pumping his fist.

For a moment, the pink curler stood still before the
TV, then it raised itself up on one end and quivered.

New Oklahoma writer K.M.
Praschak makes her RevolutionSF debut here this month, but she's
also had a number of other pieces published, including her short
story "Martian Sparklers" featured online at F
ools Motley. Other stories by Praschak include "Juneteenth"
in the Jigsaw
Nation anthology, and "In Defense of Paradise" in the
forthcoming Animal Magnetism anthology.

Originating from the U.K. but
now residing in the Canary Islands, freelance artist
Teresa Tunaley finds more time to devote to her love
of art and painting. For more than 30 years she has
been doodling traditionally with pencils and dabbling
with watercolours. More recently she uses a more modern
technique using software such as Photoshop, Corel Draw
and Paint Shop Pro to produce her creations. More of
her work can be viewed at Artstopper.com.